


fourteen-o-eight

by Petro



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Drama, M/M, Terrible English writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 12:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3729136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petro/pseuds/Petro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your new target," Rush says coldly and hands a thick folder to Steven. "Wipe out."</p>
            </blockquote>





	fourteen-o-eight

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Четырнадцать-ноль-восемь](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3728959) by [Petro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petro/pseuds/Petro). 



> This is a translation of my work "Четырнадцать-ноль-восемь" which was written by my friend's request "Steven Gerrard, murder" for the plot-flashmob in Russian Football RPF Fandom. I'm pretty sure that I failed massively while trying to find out proper equivalents for some Russian words without losing their original meaning but hey, at least I tried :D If you find any mistakes, please let me know, I'll be grateful.  
> And yes, there's no happy-ending, sorry about that in advance. Stephen King once said that writers must kill their darlings and somehow I followed his example. This won't happen again. Maybe. Hopefully.

"Your new target," Rush says coldly and hands a thick folder to Steven. "Wipe out."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

Steven salutes and walks out of the office flipping through the profile. Target number fourteen-o-eight looks at him from the photo — a Spanish citizen, business leader, shadow producer of arms to the Basque Country and a huge problem for the Agency. It’s high time for Steven to get one more mark on the gun-butt for a round figure.

It is no trouble to track down the target. He has breakfast in one and the same café at Lime Street, buys a new Marca in a shop across the road, works in the office till afternoon and then picks up his son from kindergarten at three o’clock. He’s got too little security for such a big fish, there’s only a driver with a face of a romantic Mafioso and a big lad from his office who’s too busy joking around than actually doing his job. Steven grins, pulling his cap lower. It’s always boring to kill such show-offs.

A week later Steven has a made-up plan and a magazine case full of bullets. Weekend seems a suitable time to him — the target’s family is out of town. Whatever they say about people like Steven, he needs neither unnecessary victims, nor witnesses. He settles on a roof behind a high border and carefully prepares his rifle while chewing a toothpick. Steven is far better in shooting running targets than giving up smoking.

Fourteen-o-eight arrives home at half past eight, talks to the driver a little, then taps him on the shoulder and gets out of the car. Audi flashes with headlights and pulls off. Steven moves the toothpick to the other corner of his mouth and leans over the rifle. The path to the house is only two and a half feet. The target won’t make it to the end.

A soft click of a removed fuse sounds like the beginning of a countdown in warm Liverpool twilight. Steven places his finger on the familiar smoothness of the trigger, holding a well-groomed head at gunpoint, and at that moment the target turns around. For the first time Steven sees his eyes in a rifle-sight up-close and a wave of bright undesired memories takes him by surprise. 

That sultry May night in the heart of Turkey, that young smooth-faced Spaniard, that kiss, all sloppy and drunk, somewhere in the backstreet of a pub, that hand in Steven’s jeans and that strike with an electric shocker right in his ribs instead of an orgasm — that mistake, that nearly cost Steven his place in the Agency.

Steven must've killed him five years ago.

Fourteen-o-eight looks up to the roof, looks right at Steven and there’s no fear in his eyes.

When the rifle shoots, Steven recalls his name.

Xabi.

His name was Xabi.

**Author's Note:**

> Ta-daaa. Sorry about that, Xabi, you're still my favourite.  
> For those who haven't recognized some of the characters: [Ian Rush](http://savepic.org/5361023.jpg) as the head of the Agency, [Alvaro Arbeloa](http://savepic.org/5357951.jpg) as Xabi's driver and [Pepe Reina](http://savepic.org/5364095.jpg) as his security guard.


End file.
